


Gladiolus

by feyreofthewildfire



Series: Vibrant Bouquets AU [3]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, cassian has ptsd my poor child, cassian served in the air force, cassian works in elain's flower shop, nesta owns a tattoo shop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-06 23:40:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12828612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyreofthewildfire/pseuds/feyreofthewildfire
Summary: Sometimes he’ll wake up, sure that there’s gunfire outside his window. The whistling sound of an airstrike always rings in his ears, pulling him back overseas. It’s like he never left, in some sort of strange limbo where half of him is here and the other half is there.-Cassian calls after midnight.





	Gladiolus

**Author's Note:**

> down the trash chute once again...  
> i make a very subtle reference to another fic... see if you can catch it

Cassian can’t sleep.

Maybe it’s his fault for choosing to go back to such a busy city, even though it’s where his brothers are. His bed is too soft and the night is too quiet, muscles taut with apprehensiveness throughout the hours he attempts to sleep. If he’s lucky, he’ll get four hours. If he’s not… Well, the sunrise had always calmed him.

Sometimes he’ll wake up, sure that there’s gunfire outside his window. The whistling sound of an airstrike always rings in his ears, pulling him back overseas. It’s like he never left, in some sort of strange limbo where half of him is  _ here _ and the other half is  _ there _ .

This morning is a bad one, it seems because he immediately reaches for the gun that’s no longer at his bedside when he wakes. Az had locked it away after he’d accidentally pointed it at him. Cassian’s just lucky Az hasn’t kicked him out of his guest room yet.

He walks out of the apartment with little more than a wave to Az, ready for another day working for Elain. He could be doing worse, he knows this, so he tries not to grumble. Arranging flowers wasn’t what he thought he’d be doing when he came back, but it was the only condition Az had for living with him—Get a job, even if it was set up through his girlfriend.

And, well, there’s Nesta.

Luckily for him, she only comes around during lunch when he’s finally shaken off his midnight plights. After he’d hovered over her for a few days when she’d gotten sick, they’d gotten surprisingly close. They still antagonized each other mercilessly, but it was more… playful. Fun. He’s not trying to simply get under her skin anymore, and she quips back with sarcasm rather than malice these days.

It’s just his luck that she knocks on the door before they even open. 

Elain’s still on the roof clipping today’s flowers, leaving him alone to greet Nesta. The younger of the two sisters understood his morning exhaustion at this point, usually having a coffee already waiting for him from Velaris when she goes to get her own. Nesta, on the other hand, was convinced that he was always “peppy and annoying” no matter the time of day.

“You look like hell,” she quips bluntly, breezing past him as soon as he opens the door. “Lucky for you, I brought breakfast. You told me that you liked that place on Mason Street, so I went to check it out. Lo and behold, I mention your name and the cashier recognizes it.” She spins on her heel with a grace he envies and thrusts a paper bag into his chest. “I expect reimbursement.”

For once, he has no words. In fact, he’s so tired that he barely processes what she says, mechanically taking the bag from her. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

“No offer of a sexual repayment? You’re losing your touch, Motem.” 

He just pokes her shoulder once and walks past her, opening the bag as he does. What he doesn’t tell her is that the shop’s owned by one of the men he served with, and that he’s usually there long after closing. 

“All you have to do is ask,” he speaks. He tries to put some emotion into it, he really does, but mortar fire still sounds in his ears and when he closes his eyes the back of his lids are painted red.

“Is something wrong?” she asks, in that accusing way of hers. He’s surprised that she’s asked at all. He’d been under the impression that the only people Nesta truly cared about were her sisters. 

“It’s eight in the morning, sweetheart.” He deflects, walking around the counter to sit in the spinny chair behind it. “Haven’t even finished my coffee yet.”

Her eyes narrow scrutinizingly, a calculating look appearing in her eyes that makes him squirm. “I don’t believe you.”

He breaks eye contact and reaches into the bag, pulling out the sandwich and staring at it for a moment before setting it down. “Such little faith—I thought we had something.”

“Cassian,” she snips, giving him that one look he’s become all too familiar with. 

“Nesta,” he mimics, though the word falls flat.

She sits on the counter, swinging her legs over to face him. Leaning over, she’s far too close for comfort. His first instinct is to back away, but something keeps him there. He thinks he knows what it is when her eyes widen with realization.

“You’re not sleeping, are you?” He winces with her accusation. 

“Nesta…”  
“Don’t ‘Nesta’ me. Why haven’t you said anything?”

He shrugs, “Didn’t think you cared.”

A look flits across her face, one that he doesn’t quite catch. 

“Next time, call me. I’m usually up late drafting designs and scheduling appointments, anyways.”

He doesn’t respond, only stares at her for a few moments. Some part of him wants to insist that he’s okay, throw some flirty, dismissive line at her that’ll make her drop the subject. But another part of him wants to take her up on the offer. It’s that part that wins.

“Okay.” 

The small smile that curls the corner of her lips is worth it.

 

* * *

 

The thunderstorm keeps her awake. 

Something about rainfall, about overwhelming amounts of water, has always scared her. Her mother liked to joke that her aversion to water must’ve come from some sort of past life since she’d never had any traumatic incident as a child. 

Nesta had long given up on sleep, leaning against the headboard of her bed with her laptop to the side and her drawing table in hand, trying to draw the Wonder Woman sword from the movie that’d been commissioned by a superfan a few days ago. It’s certainly an interesting drawing, but the reference photos she has makes it incredibly easy. 

The clock reads 3:44 when the storm finally dies down, enough so that she thinks she can get some sleep. Before she can get to bed though, her phone rings. 

With the frown, she picks up the ringing device, wondering who in the world would be calling her at this hour. Realization dawns on her when the Caller ID reads ‘Cassian Motem.’

“Hey,” she greets softly, lying down in bed and pulling the comforter over her. 

There’s a long silence on the other end, long enough that she wonders if he’d accidentally called. “Hey.” 

“How are you?” She asks although she’s sure she knows the answer.

“Can’t sleep.” His words are little more than a mumble, barely decipherable through the static of the call.

“What’s keeping you up?”

“The usual.” 

It’s not hard to tell that he doesn’t really want to talk about whatever plagues him. She’s hardly surprised. “What did you do today?” It’s a weekend, meaning she hadn’t seen him all day. Perhaps something they should rectify. She wouldn’t mind seeing him outside of Elain’s shop.

He launches into a quiet yet heated review of the book he’d spent the day reading, one that she’s read before and enjoys his opinion on. It’s a 19th-century horror, a surprise to her. She hadn’t thought he’d like the classics much. 

Before long they’re in an unsurprising scuffle about the ethics of the main character, though there’s no real animosity. It’s a good distraction for him. She can tell when the quiet melancholy leaves his tone in exchange for the Cassian she recognizes. 

They’re both too stubborn to concede on their opinions and eventually just agree to disagree. A quiet silence ensues, though it’s comforting rather than awkward. 

“Would you like to get brunch in the morning? We could go and sit in at that place on Mason Street.” Nesta blurts out, trying to fill the silence. 

“I—Of course,” he stutters. “Does noon work for you?”

“Definitely.”  
“Okay… then I’ll see you in a few hours.” 

“Get some sleep, Motem.” 

“That sounds like concern, sweetheart.” 

“Tell anyone and I’ll kill you.”

A chuckle, “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> come scream at me on tumblr @feyreofthewildfire  
> kudos and comments give me the motivation to get through the piles of homework and write! warning: i tend to word vomit in my responses  
> have a lovely, lovely day!


End file.
